


Routine Annual

by CraniumCulverin



Series: Ripper!AU [4]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Original Character(s), Other, Other's OCs, Ripper!AU, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-18 06:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21639547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CraniumCulverin/pseuds/CraniumCulverin
Summary: Alfred goes to a routine doctor’s appointment, with non-routine results; or, Alfred is a self-repressed mess of horny anger and dramatics. The follow-up to Dipsomanic Paroxysm.
Series: Ripper!AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1350172
Kudos: 5





	Routine Annual

**Author's Note:**

> Ripper!AU is based on donc-desole's artwork. Contains mild descriptions of gore. Originally posted to my tumblr.

The morning air in Yharnam tends to be either bitterly brisk or dreadfully damp, depending on the time of year. Today it’s downright miserable, heavy with the constant rain that’s been drenching every aspect of life in the bustling valley-bound city. The lower districts’ waterways are near flooding levels from the days-long downpour that only recently has lightened to a drizzle. Fog still clings to the city’s outskirts, denser yet in the surrounding forests and swamplands where small villages and fishing hamlets lie.

Alfred does his best not to let the weather affect his disposition as he navigates the soaked streets, the touch of scotch he’d had before venturing out helping as intended. There’s an appointment he must attend to, and once that’s out of the way he can return to his work. A smile creeps forth as he steps onto a slightly emptier street. He can’t help but feel giddy; he’s had a breakthrough with his writing in the past week, after a long stretch of nothing but perusing old notes and stalking the theology section of Byrgenwerth’s library. Those damnable people on the dissertation committee could sod off - he’ll finish his doctorate, with or without their help or _personal_ approval!

His long strides quickly bring him to his destination - a grey brick building much like any of the other grey brick buildings along the slanted street, save for the bracket above the door. From it hangs an off-white sign, its carved letters gilded in deep Prussian blue, large enough to be seen from the far side of the street: Hewlett Private Practice & Clinic. Alfred admires his insight’s handiwork as he shakes the rain from his umbrella. The addition of a single word - and a few positive remarks while out and about - was really all it took to draw in the finical locals… He gives his umbrella one last shake before quickly removing his hat to duck inside, eager to be out of the wet and cold.

If Alfred had to guess, this office was once an older Pthumerian style residence, gutted and rebuilt sometime following the end of the civil war. The second and third floors were either destroyed or simply taken out, leaving the space massively open compared to newer English style buildings spread throughout Yharnam. Dark wooden paneling makes up the space’s walls, stopping just under where the third floor would have started. Tall, narrow windows line the entire upper half of one wall, equipped with drapes for privacy since some are partially at street level. Smaller windows hug the clinic’s entrance, curtains drawn on account of facing the busy street. Upon entering, a set of stairs situated against the wall lead down to a shining tiled floor below. Another set that always remained sectioned off lead up to a walkway that rings the space, used as storage by the current occupant and owner. Along it are strategically placed standing mirrors, cleverly arranged in order to brighten the room. Below the catwalk on the same wall as the towering windows, a heavy double door leads to a paved path which in turn leads up to the street, likely for any patients unable to traverse the main entrance. With seemingly only the one giant room, Alfred can’t fathom what function the place was designed to have if not a clinic.

Looking across the room’s various medical fixtures from his place at the stair’s railing, Alfred doesn’t spot the doctor anywhere. His brows knit together as he checks his pocket watch and ventures down, footsteps lightly echoing. _“Well **I’m** on time… Strange of Percy not to be present. It’s not as if he’d want to be out in this dreadful weather.”_

With nothing to do until his physician is present, Alfred deems to hang his hat and dripping greatcoat before sitting in one of the seats set against the stairs. After nearly a minute of very patiently waiting he stands, deciding instead to look around.

The desk Dr. Hewlett sits at is opposite the windows and faces the streetside entrance, several large filing cabinets lining the wall directly adjacent. He eyes the cabinets’ drawers as he meanders, most labeled with sections of the alphabet, others with specific purposes or topics, all outfitted with sturdy-looking locks. Perusing the various books and papers on the desk’s surface does little to occupy his mind, the doctor’s neat cursive a boring blur of pencil and black ink. Across the room are trays of bits and bobs sat atop a trolley, next to an extra examination table - no, there’s leather cuffs along where one’s arms and legs would go. It must be for surgery. His interest piqued, Alfred makes his way over.

Many of the different implements shine brightly despite the overcast light, like little polished beacons. A few of the neatly arranged tools look familiar from what little he knows of such things - pliers of various lengths and shapes, a few sizes of bone saws, curved needles for stitches, and long, slim knives. Small chisels next to a long metal mallet cause Alfred to pause before seeing what lays on the next tray. He leans in to inspect a set of peculiar blades, much smaller and finer than any of their brethren. As he admires the incredibly sharp little knives his hand reaches for one of its own accord. Alfred snatches it back with a frown. His umbrella is abruptly clasped in both hands as he moves to the other side of the table. Percy had been _very_ clear the last time Alfred’s hands had wandered, and the time before that - his tools and equipment were not to be touched. Respecting the doctor’s boundaries was the least he could do considering all the old gent’s done for him.

Foregoing the various knives, he moves to ogle the strange jumble of tubes and bottles neatly hanging from a stand. On closer inspection he notes needles attached at the ends of the tubes, carefully set so as not to cause accidental punctures or scratches. Alfred grimaces; those were likely meant to go into someone - and being sat so near to the surgery table - _regardless_ of their wishes. The ghastly thing makes him uneasy, limbs tingling at the thought of all of those thick needles piercing his flesh at once, injecting who knows how much or what sort of concoctions into his veins. A shiver runs down his spine as he turns away, only to startle. “Gah! Per- Dr. Hewlett! Goodness man, how long have you been standing there?!”

An unnoticed door in the back wall’s paneling stands open, the doctor in question holding it open with one hand, a stack of papers in the other. Percy’s usual sanguine grin adorns his bespectacled features. “My apologies Alfred, I’ve only just returned to the office. Thank you for your patience during my tardiness.” The older man strides toward his desk, a key in hand to unlock one of the many nearby cabinet drawers. He swiftly rifles through its files before depositing some of the papers, shutting and locking it to move to another. He casts Alfred a quick glance as he opens it. “Thank you, by the way, for refraining from touching anything. I appreciate the effort.”

“Wha-? Oh… of course,” mumbles Alfred, caught off guard as he approaches the exam table near where the other stands. He bites the inside of his cheek as he removes his jacket, feeling a touch guilty on realizing his snooping had been witnessed. After he’s laid his effects on one end of the table Alfred hoists himself up to sit on the other, mind still on those shiny tools. As the physician turns to face him with an open file in hand, his curiosity gets the better of him. “If I may…” Percy looks at him over his lenses, brows raised to show he was listening. “I’m rather curious - what are those knives over there, by the surgery table? Some of them seem awfully… specialized. The ones that are mostly handle, for instance - their blades are so small, how are they used…?”

“Ah, those would be scalpels.” The doctor closes the file as he speaks, falling into the impromptu lecture with practiced ease. He drops the collection of papers to the desk before walking to one of the trays to pick up a scalpel with a curved, hook-like blade.

“Think of them like the pens or pencils of knives as compared to, say, a bone saw as a large paint brush. They’re meant for very fine, detailed incisions during surgeries. Thus the larger handle.” He holds the instrument like a pen before flipping it to hold just like a dinner knife. “The various types of blades help to make certain tasks easier, or to be done more efficiently. For instance long, continual incisions or having to cut through tougher tissue to get at what’s beneath. Now!” The scalpel is promptly returned to its rightful place. “Let’s move on to business, shall we?”

“Wh- oh yes.”

Intent on memorizing how the nimble little blade was held, Alfred hadn’t been listening to much of what the doctor had said. He fiddles with the buttons of his shirt cuffs as Percy walks past, suddenly aware he’s lacking some rather important information. “Why am I here again, by the bye? I know this appointment has been scheduled for quite some time, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it’s about.”

“Just a routine physical exam to keep your file up to date. I scheduled it a year ago when you first started with me,” Percy says smoothly as he continues to his desk to take up Alfred’s file once more. “Though many other practitioners don’t seem to share my logic behind the act, I believe maintaining proper records are of utmost importance to one’s practice.”

“Huh… Well it makes sense to me, at least for the returning patients. You can’t possibly remember every little thing about every single person, every time you see them! Not very well, at least…”

“ _Exactly_ ,” the physician looks over with a genuine smile as he takes a seat in the wooden desk chair, laying the contents of the file open in front of him. “I only do this sort of record keeping for patients seeing me as their personal physician. For those that only stop in to see me as a clinic doctor, I keep more basic information on file. Very astute Alfred!”

The blond beams at the compliment, unconsciously swinging his feet slightly from his high perch. Percy takes up his pen and starts a new line on one of the many papers, focused on filling in the date as he speaks. “Now then, let’s begin. Some of the questions I ask may seem redundant, but please answer them all the same.”

“Understood,” Alfred nods, straightening a bit.

“Any current illnesses?”

“No.”

“Current injuries?”

“None.”

“Any heredi- ah. Engaging in any physical activities?”

Alfred’s smile wanes at the slip. “I continue with my daily regimen to stay fit, same as I described before. Plenty of walks every day with my dog around the city, both strenuous and leisurely. Occasionally I partake in fisticuffs - for sport of course,” he hurriedly adds, “and _never_ without supervision! Besides that… I do still find myself walking at night, when I can’t sleep.”

“Ah yes,” the doctor pulls out a separate scrawled-upon paper, “how has your sleeping been since last we discussed it? Any improvement?”

“I feel- I feel it’s gotten worse, actually. The nightmares especially - I feel I’m having them more often than not these days. Usually about… certain past experiences. I have done what we settled on trying, as you know - still nothing of note. The times I can’t move upon waking are as unbearable as ever, as are the times when sleep eludes me entirely. And the uh, the bouts of, of uh… er-”

“Arousal?”

“Y-yuuh y- _yes_. They’ve become more… often,” Alfred feels his ears grow warm as he squirms, fingers fidgeting against the edge of the table. Such instances of his failure to curtail his shameful desires are hardly something he wants to think on, let alone describe aloud. But Percy is as clinical as ever, seemingly unaware of his patient’s discomfort as the pen scratches away.

“And are you still waking to find you’ve spent at some point in your sleep? Or are waking upon spending?”

“Whhh- I uh, ah- hhy- _yes_ …,” Alfred sputters, the whole of his face now hot as embers. The doctor merely nods as he jots this down as well. The larger man turns away in mortification, rubbing a hand over his mouth. The offending piece of paper is soon set aside with no further questions as Percy continues his task.

“Since we’ve already broached the topic - any sexual activity?”

Alfred huffs as he returns his gaze to the physician, shame instantly turning to outrage. “No, why would- I’m very much _not_ in a relationship, Dr. Hewlett. And I certainly don’t affiliate with _prostitutes_!”

“Self-stimulation?”

“ _Of course not!_ ”

“Mmm,” hums Percy, sounding duller than before. “Do you still smoke?”

“Oh…,” the more palatable topic causes Alfred to pause, “…Yes, on occasion I’ll have a cigar while relaxing. Not as often as I used to, come to think of it. Also when I’m in the company of my peers, at the University or meeting at the Ward. Which thankfully isn’t often.”

“Good, good. And how is your diet?”

“Diet, well! Usually whatever the lonely old landlady makes - porridge or toast with bacon in the mornings, fend for oneself midday, stew or pie and mash for supper. Meat and veg of some sort every day, bless her.”

Percy nods, pausing briefly as he finishes his notes. “I recall she feeds her tenants well… Besides the meals provided at the boarding house, do you eat much else? Sweets, perhaps?”

“Er- well…,” Alfred bashfully looks away as he twiddles his thumbs. “I _do_ still get pastries or a slice of cake from time to time. But nowhere near as often as when I first found you, I’ll have you know! I’m down to only twice a week! And I keep track, just as you said!”

“Very good! I trust you’ve noticed a difference in your energy and weight?”

“Yes, yes I have! Ha ha…,” Alfred’s chuckle fades quickly as the other focuses on his writing. He decides not to mention _when_ he’d started cutting back; though it’s been some months now, it’d likely be unwise to share that information. Percy might draw conclusions between the similar timing of that, and when word of more animal carcasses found around the city began to spread. What could he say - remove one vice, find another. _“At least **that** habit’s abated some as well. Those first few weeks were horrible, and done in too risky a fashion. Damn things downright avoid that part of the park now too, I swear…”_ Too deep in his own thoughts, Alfred doesn’t notice as the scratching of nib on paper stops.

“And your alcohol consumption?”

“…My what?” Alfred looks up from his hands, unsure of what he’d heard. Percy takes his eyes off his records to give him a passive look, voice nonchalant. “Your alcohol consumption. I believe we talked some on the subject earlier this month, if you recall?”

“I… do, yes…”

Alfred very much wishes he didn’t. He’s tried his best not to think on anything from that day, especially the confusing memories ( _“not memories, just perversions”_ ) of the night before it. The intrusive perversions about the doctor haunted him through the rest of that day and into the next. It wasn’t until the following evening - knife caked in the same tacky, crimson mess that spattered his face and drenched his gloves - that he’d finally had any sort of peace. It hadn’t crossed his mind since, until now. He clenches his eyes shut, hoping to press the disconcerting feelings back into the depths. _“I can be a sick bastard, but never a **rapist**. I wouldn’t- I didn’t! Nothing happened but my own sick, perverted fantasy. He would’ve cut all ties with me otherwise, surely!”_

“Are you alright Alfred?”

On opening his eyes Percy is leaning forward to watch him intently, a vaguely concerned expression on his face. Alfred tries to disguise his grimace as a smile and chuckles weakly. “Yes I’m fine, I- I’m sorry. I was in such a bad way, it seems I don’t really remember much of that day. Besides feeling miserable I mean, ha ha!”

The physician leans back in his chair, expression shifting to something pensive. “…I see.” Another slip of paper is produced, looking as though it’d been neatly torn from a larger piece. Alfred watches his eyes move across the words, quickly looking away when their gazes meet. “We briefly spoke about how after every attempt at reducing your alcohol intake, you gradually end up drinking more than you had previously.”

 _“That had been his concern, his **theory**. Not something we’d really discussed. He talked, I listened.”_ Still, Alfred just nods and says nothing as the doctor continues. “I could see it wasn’t the time to discuss it, so I let it go. But as your physician… and as your _friend_ ,” - Alfred goes still as his eyes snap up to meet Percy’s - “I’d be doing you a disservice by not discussing it now. If you don’t want your drinking to eventually consume you, I highly suggest you refrain from alcohol. Completely.”

“…Oh.” Though the thought was nothing new, hearing it aloud still left a hollow feeling in his chest.

“I understand you’ve never tried to go completely dry before, and it _will_ require a great deal of change and willpower-”

“…Mm…”

“-but I truly believe you’ll be healthier for it, and happier too. Of course I’ll be of any assist-”

“I don’t think it’d be wise.”

“-ance to y- Oh?” Percy’s brows quirk upward as he tilts his head, “Why do you say that?”

A long pause falls between them as Alfred fumbles for the words to describe thoughts too disjointed and repugnant to fully comprehend, despite being his own. “I… don’t think it’d be for the best. For me or… or anyone else, were I to… do that.”

The sounds of the street filter into the silent clinic while Percy tries to decipher his meaning. Alfred refuses to meet the other’s intense gaze as he worries his bottom lip, mind reeling around recollections of past actions, present secrets, possible outcomes, and- and he was scared. Not at the prospect of quitting this damned vice of his for good - there isn’t a doubt in his mind how much doing so would improve his life! No, he’s afraid of what he might do in the meantime while he’s not himself; of what could possibly take it’s place should it leave a lingering void. Flashes of bloodied knives, broken bones, and strewn entrails flood his thoughts as his fingers twitch around an imaginary handle, a pleasurable tingling in the back of his mind. No, it’s better not to open that door any wider. Best not even risk it.

“I doubt you’ll be of danger to anyone.”

The exam table squeaks as Alfred flinches, his attention snapping back to Percy in wide-eyed horror. _“Was I thinking out loud again?! Did I say anything to- that could incriminate-!”_ But the doctor is placid as ever, elbow upon his desk to prop a hand to his cheek - not at all looking like a man that had overheard another pondering his rampant morbidity. He’s smiling softly, not the usual sly grin he so often wears but something knowing, and strangely… sincere. If Alfred didn’t know better he’d say it was almost nearing sympathetic. The thought sits oddly with him as the physician sets aside pen and paper to lean back in his seat. “I believe that’s what you meant, yes?“

"I… suppose so, yes…”

Percy nods once, gaze slowly drifting across the room as he thinks. The pause lasts but a few moments before he looks back to the younger man, now more animated as he speaks. “Alfred, I know you have… problems with _excess aggression_ , we’ll call it. I noticed a few of your actions that implied as much even during the time we first met, outside the city - after you’d recovered of course. And having had my fair share of patients that _weren’t_ mindful or even aware of such things, I can appreciate your efforts and concern over keeping that aggression in check,” he pauses to leave room for comment, continuing after a beat in a more serious tone. “However based on my research over the matter, I believe alcohol only makes that control harder to achieve, and typically even exacerbates the issue. In other words, the longer you continue to drink the more at risk you, and anyone else, will be. This is a major factor in my push for you to go dry, for the record.”

There’s a finality to Percy’s words that’s hard to ignore, but something else catches Alfred’s attention. "…Your research? You’ve looked into this- about… about my case?”

A hint of confusion tarnishes the physician’s features. “Well, yes. I’ve relatively little experience with treating addictions aside from laudanum and opium, oddly enough. And the only prior experience I have concerning aggression in relation to alcohol is with a man who, at his worst, I’d describe as… _overly scrupulous_ , if not downright _fussy_. Nothing at all like-”

“But _why_?”

Now Percy’s confusion is openly on display. “Why not? It’s the least I can do to better ensure you achieve as a good an outcome as possible with whatever you decide to do.” The confusion suddenly vanishes to be replaced with curiosity. “Do you find that strange? That I would invest time outside of office hours into your wellbeing?”

“I- No, it’s just- …I’m no _drunkard_ , Dr. Hewlett. Yes I’ve a problem with drink, but it’s not…” - Alfred vaguely gestures in lieu of finding the right words - “…and I don’t understand how my aggression, abundant or otherwise, is in any way a _medical_ issue for you to somehow treat! How is- that makes no _sense_! You’re just wasting your time!”

The other man quietly regards him for a few seconds with an odd expression. Then he leans forward to rest his hands on his knees, looking all the world like a teacher about to patiently lecture a dull child. “Alfred, as you know I am a physician, but within that role I am very much an experimental researcher. That means that on top of providing medical services, I put forth and delve into scientific inquiries. For example, on such topics as what should and shouldn’t be considered an issue that requires addressing from a professional,” Percy leans back just enough to gesture, “Now, you and I as former residents of England are familiar with the country’s strict views on how doctors should conduct themselves - which is _exactly_ why I moved here. To be able to practice and research under my own theories and not be judged for refusing to subscribe to certain… traditional or conventional beliefs. In Yharnam I can practice as both a physician _and_ researcher at the same time, to the fullest extent, without having to be approved by my peers or pretend to believe their nonsense. Do you follow?”

Alfred nods, brow furrowed in concentration. He understands why the doctor decided to venture to New Pthumeria; he’d said why multiple times in multiple ways now. What he doesn’t understand is how any of that pertains to him in the slightest.

Percy mirrors his nod and flashes a grin. “Good! So, how this relates to _your_ case” - he suddenly pushes himself out of his seat to saunter as he speaks - “is that I fully believe that maladies and infirmities of the mind aren’t caused by entirely physiological means. Now, by definition this line of inquiry _technically_ falls outside my area of expertise, but that’s of no concern since I now practice in New Pthumeria and am, _technically_ , a ‘member’ of the Healing Church… Through helping you overcome - or at the very least better control - your excess aggression, I can potentially further my own studies, and thus better prove this theory to the many that doubt it. That isn’t _at all_ a waste of my time!” He turns to face Alfred and leans against the edge of his desk, “As for alcohol, there’s plenty of evidence to prove how detrimental it is to both the individual and society as a whole. I merely choose to recognize it in my practice, and act preventively - that is, to stop the problem before it can _become_ a problem. That all makes sense, noh?”

“…No- I mean, yes! Yes it does,” Alfred clears his throat and shifts to relieve where his backside has started going numb. “So you’re a sort of alienist then, and… you think me _ill_ somehow? In my mind?”

Percy crosses his arms and frowns in a show of consideration. “I prefer 'amateur psychiatrist’, but good to know you have an understanding of what I’m trying to do. And I was thinking you suffer more from… an imbalance of sorts - somewhat similar to how one’s diet can be lacking in what a healthy body requires, perhaps one's… brain, upbringing, experiences, et cetera - can be lacking in what a healthy mind requires.” He smiles good-naturedly, “Why? Do _you_ think you may have some sickness of the mind?”

The doctor chuckles as he returns to his seat and Alfred does as well, a tad too loudly. His face feels stiff as he keeps a smile plastered on, images and sounds suddenly dancing through his head. A tiny ribcage split open, smashed contents still pulsing, the meaty crack of femurs breaking, how it feels as a blade catches on joints and cartilage, the crunching and tearing of when it’s wrenched free in a spew of brilliant, splattering-

“So what do you say? Do you think you’ll consider going dry?”

“Hm? Oh I-,” he lets fall the smile that had broadened as he mused. “I'll… I’ll _consider_ it, Dr. Hewlett. I’ve lived more years with drink than without. I’m truly unsure of how I’d fair!”

“Oh worse, much worse,” Percy finally looks up from rearranging his papers to give him a wry smile, “but then better and much better, given time. Now then! Let’s finish updating these records shall we?”

As the physician finishes his list a questions, Alfred mulls over what had just been said. Percy’s always been rather candid with how and why he goes about his practice; it’s part of why many of the locals have come to prefer him over the more secretive Healing Church doctors. But he apparently has a few views the younger man just can’t wrap his mind around. His theory about mental illnesses was likely just one’s lacking in willpower, discipline, or were born with a bad brain or nerves - that sort of thing. Not some designed or allowed misbalance of one’s inner-most workings - organs and bodily ailments were one thing, but for God or whatever equivalent to let the mind itself become deformed by non-physical, unknown means, yet function enough to not be considered mad? Alfred’s faith may have faded since childhood, but even he couldn’t accept that a higher power could be so cruel. There is simply the sane and insane; those that are healthy and those that need put in an asylum. Nothing in between. _“Still, there’s no need to hold this false belief against him. He’s remarkably clever, he’ll come to realize his ideas are off after a little more research. We’ll help each other, as he said.”_

“That’s all of my questions at this time,” Percy says as he sets his pen aside, “just the physical exam and we’ll be done here.” He opens one of the desk drawers and pulls out a few familiar-looking instruments, stashing them on his person as he stands and approaches. Based on previous experience Alfred makes to start undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, but stops short when the doctor puts up a hand. “No need to undress, this will only be a general physical - blood pressure, heartrate, reflexes, that sort of thing. Unless you’ve somehow managed to attain further scarring or are having back troubles again, you may remain covered.”

Alfred thinks a moment, slowly shaking his head. “I don’t believe I’ve had any more issues. Until recently I’ve been rather blocked, so I haven’t been hunched at my desk as regularly…”

Percy hums as he readies his stethoscope, wordlessly silencing the blond when the small disc is pressed to his chest. He begins by listening to his heart and lungs, followed by finding a suitable point along his wrist to count his pulse. Alfred’s eye starts to twitch after the physician has tapped a number of points on his body with a small rubber hammer, the involuntary jerks and spasms making him antsy. When nimble fingers find their way near his neck to press along his jaw, he has to concentrate on staying relaxed, for some reason immensely wary all of a sudden. Likely just having another’s hands near such a vulnerable area. A natural reaction, nothing more…

“So you’re making progress, hm?”

The blond casts a confused glance down at the doctor, whose face is less than an arm’s length away. Percy gives him a hint of a smirk, eyes focused on his work. “You said 'until recently’ you’ve been blocked. Does that mean you’ve had a breakthrough with your dissertation?”

The hands fall away as the older man turns to jot down a few notes, allowing Alfred to grin ear to ear. His tone is more energetic and excited than it’s been in quite some time. “Oh yes! Yes, I have! I found the most _interesting_ text in the restricted section of Byrgenwerth’s theology section a few days ago. It was buried away under numerous yet-to-be-translated manuscripts and-”

“Down.”

“-was _exactly_ what I’ve been _certain_ has been missing from a series of works describing the complex rituals and dogma that make up the fundamentals of-,” he slides off the table, “-the Pthumeru religion’s traditions, worship, and ceremonies! In particular, it held missing information from the end of the previous text concerning properly conducted blood sacrifice and ritual suicides, and then moved on to-”

“Sit.”

“-describe core aspects of their holy pilgrimages, their traditional routes, and the role they played _not only_ in-,” the proffered desk chair creaks as he seats himself, “-the religion itself, but in their society _as a whole_! On top of being of the utmost importance to my thesis, this information could potentially offer a better explanation of how the Old Pthumerians and New Pthumerians came to be such distinctly different, segregated peoples over the centuries! Imagine, _that_ sort of monumental knowledge, left to rot in some cluttered backroom of a university library!”

“A shame, truly,” Percy dully says as he lights what looks to be a police lantern. It’s placed atop a stack of books that he’d piled up to sit at the same level of Alfred’s head, the port facing him. The physician removes his spectacles to adorn a head mirror, adjusting it to lay over the left side of his face. “Hold still now.” Now that his patient’s head is no longer above his own, Percy can easily check his ears, nose, teeth, and throat, the reflected light from the lantern making it go quickly. He removes the mirror to jot down another few lines, running a hand through where his hair was mussed by the headband. “Alright, just your eyes are left to check, but to do so I’ll need us to move to a darker area.”

Alfred frowns as he stands, his train of thought concerning ceremonial mass suicide interrupted by his piqued curiosity. “My eyes? How does one go about that I wonder… You haven’t done this on me before, have you?”

“I have not, no. However I’ve learned much pertaining to the subject since last I examined you, as many of my Healing Church compatriots have a rather bizarre fixation with eyes. Those I manage to tolerate were more than willing to share their techniques when I showed interest.” Percy picks up his things and directs the other to the door he’d entered through. The slim handle blends in well with the wood paneling’s carvings, the seams and hinges nigh invisible before it’s opened to reveal a long, narrow hallway, its wall sconces unlit. Alfred is ushered in before he can inquire about the impressive craftmanship, the door shutting behind them.

They’re immediately cast into darkness, the only light coming from the physician’s lantern and a small ceiling fixture a ways down the hall, letting in natural light. For a ridiculous moment Alfred finds himself wondering if Dr. Hewlett is one of those doctors that kidnap and sell their patients - a terribly commonplace form of malpractice in Yharnam, according to rumors. He shakes the thought from his head just as Percy chuckles. “I’m ashamed to say I don’t yet have a proper setup for this procedure. You’re actually the first with whom I’m trying it this way - otherwise I’d have to traverse that cluttered, rickety catwalk to draw the curtains,” he lightly nudges Alfred in the back to keep him moving, “midway down this hall are some stairs, that’s where we’re headed.”

“Ah, very well… Where does this go?”

“The house I rent.”

When the blond looks over his shoulder in surprise Percy smirks at him. “Surely you’ve noticed that my office and house are but one street apart? You’ve come and gone from both now.”

Alfred only grunts in return, a little embarrassed at missing something so obvious. To be fair, he’s prone to getting lost in thought as he walks, and he hadn’t been in the best mindset when he’d left the doctor’s residence. Nor has he wanted to revisit _any_ aspect of that day, even something as innocent as street names. Their steps don’t echo as one would expect in such a tunnel-like passage thanks to a long carpet runs the length of the hall, muffling the sound. Percy’s beam of light is partially blocked by the larger man’s bulk, but the steps are easily seen in the faint natural light as they approach them.

“Now then, stand on whichever step you must so I can actually see you eye to eye,” the smaller man’s amusement is audible as he once again dons the head mirror. “I’ll need you to hold the lantern as well. And before you say a word, I do realize how absurd this all is - were you any other patient I wouldn’t have even considered such a hackneyed approach.”

Alfred raises his brows as he turns to the other man face-to-face, trying not to smile too broadly at the perceived compliment. “What makes me so different, pray tell?”

“Well, for starters,” Percy says flatly as he hands him the light, “I didn’t spend nearly a month and then some living in the same tent in the middle of nowhere with my other patients. That sort of familiarity changes things.”

Now Alfred tries not to frown as he holds the lantern beside his head, careful not to touch where the metal has grown hot. “…That’s unfair…”

“Oh?” The doctor adjusts the positioning of the lantern before straightening both he and Alfred’s heads until the light is reflecting directly into the blond’s left eye. He gently holds his patient’s eyelids wide as he draws closer once more, voice softer. “Look over my ear please. Unfair in what way?”

Alfred is suddenly at a loss for words as his whole body stiffens, the hairs on his neck standing on end. If it’s the unceasingly blinding light, their close proximity, or the nostalgia of a sentiment he’d last felt ( _“dreamt off”_ ) under a dim lamp post ( _“in a fantasy”_ ), he’s suddenly feeling an immense sense of… _familiarity_. Not the good, companionable kind the doctor spoke of, gained through shared experiences - not in the least. It was a hazy sort, utterly unwelcome but edging into his mind all the same. A familiarity of warmth turning to heat turning to pleasure in the dark, low gasps growing deeper and guttural, soft hair between his fingers and tender skin between his-

“Unfair in what _way_?”

“Wha- uh. You- I don’t remember most of, of back then… it’s not fair,” he mumbles, trying to keep the words but a whisper. “You’ve more familiarity with me than, than I have with you… I suppose is my meaning.”

“Ah,” the single puff of breath near Alfred’s mouth sends an unwelcome shiver through him, sparking another flurry of ( _“false, imagined”_ ) memories. “I suppose that would be unfair, yes. But-” Percy leans back to direct the light into his other eye as it’s held open, fingers gently grazing a cheekbone, “-you’re more familiar with me than most anyone else in Yharnam has managed to become, I assure you. Look over this ear now.”

Alfred hums in lieu of trying to respond, afraid to breathe as the smaller man leans forward again. Instead of letting himself fall further into a ( _“make-believe, utterly false, it **never happened** ”_) negative train of thought, he tries to think over everything they’ve discussed. _“There, there’d been my find at the library - I **still** can’t believe my luck! - and before that was that silliness about mind illnesses…”_ \- bones sticking through muscle and skin, fur matted with blood and viscera, sticking to his hands, intestines slipping through his grasp- _“No, **no**! Don’t think on that now! …B-before that was, was the talk about alcohol? That’s right…”_

This eye is taking infinitely longer than his other - no, his mind was just racing again, making time pass aggravatingly slow. From his periphery he can see the visible half of the physician’s face, haggard, almost ghastly-looking. Not at all the practically youthful features he was accustomed to seeing. Perhaps it was just the odd lighting and glancing reflections from the unlit sconces, casting odd shapes and shadows?

_“I really am considering Dr. Hewlett’s proposal… In fact, I should cut back, in preparation. That way it’ll be a gradual process - that should be easier on one’s nerves, on the body, instead of all at once. That makes sense… I’ve about half a bottle of scotch back in my room, I’ll see that it doesn’t empty 'til the **end** of next month!”_

Reflections and poor peripheral vision were indeed warping the doctor’s features, now that he’s focused on them. The rarity of seeing him at eye level allows Alfred to take in his face better than usual, actually. Streaks of the shorter hair at Percy’s temples are much darker than his overall silver-white - the same dark color as his eyebrows. He’d never really noticed that before, from his usual vantage point. A rather striking detail.

_“What he said about… my aggression. I think I know what he means. It’s easier to tear something apart when I’ve been drinking - less troubling afterward than when I do it sober. I wonder if going dry really could help stop **that** habit, instead of making it worse… At the very least it wouldn’t be as **easy** , as **good** …”_

A decent jawline too, at least compared to his own, which is purposely kept hidden under shapely sideburns. The reflections play on his neck oddly, making it look as though a patch of scruff escaped the doctor’s razor this morning. Light hits him in such a way as to cast a stray shadow along the side, starting below his jaw and dipping below the collar in a haphazard line. Alfred frowns.

“Over my ear please.”

His eyes snap back up at the flat tone, unable to apologize due to the sudden dryness of his mouth. His arm is starting to shake, causing the lantern to rattle now and then. _“A trick of what little light there is, bouncing around. Odd little tricks of shadow and reflections.”_ But it _does_ venture below his collar, and remains in a constant position even as the physician shifts. Ever so slightly discolored skin, brownish and yellow even in the dim. There’s a slight purplish hue inside a distinctly oblong shape, where the edge of twin crescents-

“Alfred, keep still.”

His eyes find the doctor’s ear by happenstance, seeing nothing, no longer present.

No longer is he in the hallway but in a darkened parlor some weeks ago, this man pinned to the couch beneath him. Forceful and suffocating and utterly oblivious to anything outside his own sick lust. Delicious, _terrible_ heat eating him from the inside out, worsened by the sensations of another’s mouth against his own, the strangled, muffled moans sending jolts to the burning pit deep in his gut. Hands pull and push and hit him in an obvious, panicked display and still he’s too _stupid_ , too drunkenly enamored with the reactions he’s forcing from this man to comprehend his distress. Fully believing his lust is reciprocated with similar eagerness, despite the glaringly obvious truth. Going to even further deplorable lengths, wanting to please and be pleased, to finally quench the overwhelming fire inside his very bones alongside the fire of another. Skin and muscle trying to keep their form as he forgets himself entirely, sinking his teeth in like an animal, _marking_ him, as if he’d _wanted_ to leave evidence, to-

“Alright, we’re done.”

Percy’s expression is odd as he removes the head mirror and makes to take the lantern. As soon as their fingers brush Alfred flinches away, eyes wide despite staring for so long. The light is caught easily enough, but the doctor casts him a curious glance before turning away. Rapid, heavy breathing pervades the hallway as the older man makes his way back to the office. Alfred trembles, sweat beginning to trickle down his neck as he’s left alone in the dim, pale light from the ceiling beyond. _“I- I **did** assault him. It wasn’t just my- or a-”_

“Come along Alfred, don’t dawdle.”

Only when the frantic breathing hitches does he realize it’s his own. His limbs feel mechanical, erratically moving as he wills himself to follow. The events of that night play on repeat in his mind, freely and unbidden, in as much of their entirety as his drunken mind had retained. He feels like he’s going to vomit.

_“I never wanted to- I didn’t want to know for **sure**!”_

Bruises and bitemarks on fragile skin - he swears he can see them even now, from here, behind and so far away. If they’d just been out of sight, he’d never have seen, never have to face what he’s done. They shouldn’t have been visible.

_“I can’t stand it! Right there in front of me, **mocking me**! It needs to, to go away!”_

He’s quiet as he quickens his pace forward, every other step matching the physician’s footfalls with unconscious ease. His approach is rapid despite how time has come to a standstill. Between the lecherous scenes that won’t cease come murky recollections of hideous blotches along his torso and legs, covering large swathes of skin. Crushing force causing even lifelong birthmarks to disappear under a darkened mess. Hands shake as they extend toward the smaller man.

_“It needs to be covered- to go **away**! I don’t want to **see it**!”_

As the shorter man reaches the door Alfred is nearly upon him. A frenzied pounding reverberates in his skull as he holds his breath, not wanting to draw any attention. Hands hover near the other’s shoulders, rising to encircle his neck.

_“I can’t bare to see it! I can’t stand that it’s **there**!”_

Thumbs line up over where vertebrae would be, fingers curl to follow the curve of an imaginary Adam’s apple. The discolored evidence is under his hands, completely hidden from view. There’s a terrible ringing in his ears. He readies to tense his digits into a vise.

_“I’ll make it like it never happened! Like it **never happened**!”_

Sudden blinding light force his eyes shut.

“Ah, look at that! A patch of clear sky for the first time in weeks! Such a rarity in this country,” Percy says as he swings the door further open. He swiftly makes his way back to the desk to replace his tools and douse the lantern, not paying any mind to his silent patient.

Alfred remains just beyond the shadowed doorway, utterly still, hands held aloft, staring at where the doctor had just stood. Sweat falls from his brow and chin as he thickly swallows, tremors intensifying. His arms slowly lower as he remembers to breathe. _“I was going to… I- oh God…”_

“I’ve been so busy as of late, I haven’t had a chance to enjoy the rain…,” the doctor thinks aloud as he strolls closer to the windows for a better view of the passing clouds. After a while he turns to face the exam table, somewhat surprised to see it still vacant before looking to where Alfred remains frozen. His expression immediately falls into something between apprehension and concern. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

_“I was going to **kill** him! How could I-! After **forcing** him to-! And I just, just-”_

“Alfred?”

_“I tried to kill **Percy**! Of all people! I can’t control my own actions - I can’t trust myself not to hurt those I-! No good - **I’m no good!** ”_

“Alfred!”

“Yes?!” Alfred’s voice cracks as he jolts back to the present. Percy is watching him from near the surgery table, tensed as if ready to come rushing to his aid should it be needed. The thought causes the cavernous void of guilt in his chest to deepen even further. His heart is racing, pounding against the inside of his skull. Percy’s gaze doesn’t falter as he speaks, steady and calm, “…I asked if you’re alright… You seem unwell.”

“I-I'm… fine! I’m fine,” his shaking reaches his voice, already hoarse from the sudden dryness of his mouth. He’s cold, almost numb, every bead of sweat trailing down his face and neck like points of ice. His head feels as though it’s been emptied and filled with air, an overwhelming need to scream buried away inside. Clenching and unclenching his hands does nothing to lessen the odd tingling in them, nor distract him from the tears trying to spring forth. Alfred quickly realizes he needs to leave, _now_ , lest he cause a scene. Still not meeting Percy’s eye, he weakly smiles in his general direction, mouth twitching at the corners. “I… really must be going! Goodbye!”

The doctor straightens in surprise as the blond all but runs to his things on the table, but makes no move to interfere. “Are you sure? You look dreadful Alfred, why don’t you-”

“No! I’m fine! I- I’ve somewhere to be, I just remembered!” Alfred manages to say without cracking as he rushes to grab his greatcoat. He’s to the stairs before he’s even done getting it on, nearly tripping while he struggles to keep a hold on his hat and umbrella as he climbs. Percy stays put, watching with growing concern. A terrible amount of sincere worry graces his voices as he calls out, “Do remember we’ve another discussion session in two days!”

“Right, yes! Goodbye!” The door slams shut, loudly echoing through the clinic.

Seconds tick by as the physician stares up at the entrance, unmoving and silent as if in wait. After some time he stands straight, tension dissipating from his form as he slowly exhales. His brow gradually furrows as his expression turns contemplative. Before returning to his desk, the hand closest to the trays neatly replaces a scalpel to its rightful place, handle warmed from a tight grip.

* * *

Very little of the walk back to his room registers. Just a flurry of damp and noise and hues of grey. By the time he reaches the boarding house he’s utterly drenched, the purpose of his umbrella forgotten. Water trails behind him as he ascends the creaking stairs to his door, pooling under him as he fumbles with the key. It’s slammed shut behind him and locked instantly.

Finally away from prying eyes, Alfred lets the pent up tears fall; short, fast gasps forced in between sobs. The hat and coat are ripped off and flung at a coat stand, falling to the floor in a crumbled pile. Sig is laying on his bed in the corner, startled awake by his master’s abrupt return. The hulking dog starts to get up but stops when Alfred begins to pace around the cramped room, flinging and dripping rain water every which way with his erratic movement. _“I was, was going to-!”_ He grits his teeth hard enough to hurt, painfully aware of how fast and shallow his breathing has become. _“I was going to kill him! For, for what **I** did to **him**! The horrible things **I** did to-!”_ Fingers tangle into his sopping wet hair, yanking hard in lieu outright screaming. _“I’m no better than a **beast**! As trustworthy as a rabid mongrel! How could I- there’s no **excuse**!”_ A glint from the corner of his eye catches his attention, up on one of the shelves. Alfred halts his pacing to stare at it. A half full bottle of scotch, its glass catching what little light the tiny window lets in.

Intense, hate-tinged anger fills him. At himself, at the bottle and the poison within, at his stupidity and weakness, his lack of self-control. He glares but a moment longer before striding over to grab it from the shelf. Sig flees his spot when Alfred stomps to the window above it. Old hinges screech as it’s roughly thrown open.

The faint whisper of something roughly thrown hangs in the air, then the shattering of glass and a splatter of liquid echoes through the alley below.


End file.
